


Libenter Hoc Facio

by inbox



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Other, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/pseuds/inbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One robot, one nerd, one technowizard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Libenter Hoc Facio

Veronica took a long sip of her drink and stared at Arcade. He shrugged and slung a leg over the low arm of his chair, twirling the toe of his boot until he managed to knock over her discarded pneumatic fist. A random decision to escape the Lucky 38 and Boone's foul mood had lead to the twin revelations of meeting Arcade's friend and long-suffering boss, and the realisation that they had access to Courier's tab at the Atomic Wrangler. Arcade's wheedling and cajoling had failed to convince Julie to join them at The Wrangler. A long afternoon was fading into night, and Veronica was sure she looked just as dishevelled as Arcade. Neither of them had the face for drinking, as equally cherry cheeked and shiny as each other.

Arcade's not so subtle needling about Veronica's immediate shift into perky flirtation had failed to get whatever results he was looking for, and now he was apparently happy to confess to things that Veronica hadn't quite expected to ever hear from him.

"Appreciation society," she said.

"New Vegas Robotics Appreciation Society," he corrected, grinning slightly wider than the sentence deserved. "We appreciate robots."

The only response she could think of was to take another drink, so she did. "Appreciate," she said finally. "Is this... is this appreciation or _appreciation_."

Arcade just grinned wider and grabbed at the bottle on the low table, shakily pouring a splash of spirits into each glass. "Appreciation," he said, rolling the r until Veronica collapsed into giggles.

"You sly dog," she said once she regained her composure. "I always wondered who you were sneaking off to visit all the time. How ironic. I was think tall, dark and handsome, not--"

"--a blue and gold paint job, even though what you said actually isn't ironic. Saying an unexpected this is ironic is a common misuse of--."

"Arcade. Shut up." She held up her glass and motioned it at him.

He accepted the toast, knocking his glass against hers with a clunk loud enough to make the next table glance over with interest. "Keep it down though," he admonished. "It's not something you should shout about."

Veronica glanced up at the stage. A cabaret singer was wheezing her way through a medley of hits, as uninterested in the Thursday night crowd as they were in her. "No shouting, I promise. It'll be our little secret," she said. "Even when you wake up tomorrow and regret telling me."

He just grinned even wider. "And miss this perfect opportunity? Santangelo, _please_. I thought a lady with your unique talents and engineering apt... aptit... know-how would be interested in, well, a bit of personal engineering."

Arcade's timing was impeccable as always. She thumped herself on the chest, vodka burning high in her throat as she caught her breath. "You've got to be kidding me."

He came dangerously close to spilling his glass as he lazily waved it in the air. "I know you're all hot and bothered for Julie, but trust me, that's a hard nut to crack. No first date fumbling with Jules. A piece of machinery though…"

"Gannon!"

"Oh, don't sound so scandalised. My workspace is below Julie's private quarters, I hear a lot of things whether I want to or not. I'm just giving you some brotherly dating advice in the form of helpful tips, such as letting you know that she likes having her fingers bitten." He looked over his glasses, his tone far too bland for someone dishing on his boss's sexual predilections. "And you probably shouldn't take her here because a) she thinks this place is a dump full of perverted sex maniacs and b) it'd be mixing business with pleasure. Some of the other doctors took her to the Ultra Luxe for her 30th last year, so, you know. Save up. Maybe don't tell her about the eating people thing though."

"I don't know if you're actually helping or you're just taking the potential fun out of finding this out for myself," Veronica said. "If - and I mean if - I ask your boss out, I don't exactly want her to think I'm a robot fu--"

"The term is technosexual," said James Garret smoothly, patting Arcade on the shoulder and neatly righting his glass in one smooth motion. "How is my favourite customer, _John_?"

"Swimming in a sea of vodka and feeling like I need to get put to bed." He twisted his neck awkwardly to look up at James. "Are we on for Tuesday still?"

The conversation droned on, a back and forth about collecting dues and maintenance schedules and Francine's upset about an oil-stained blanket. Veronica took the opportunity to prop her boots on the low table, swirling the greasy vodka and watching it cling to the sides of her glass. Her attention was only dragged back by Arcade tapping his fingers on her arm, saying _are you still here?_ until she glanced up.

Satisfied that he had her attention at last, he gave Veronica a sly look then twisted around in his chair enough to address James Garret directly. "James," he started, ignoring Veronica's immediate flap of her hands and mouthed refrain of _shut up shut up I hate you_. "Did you know my gal here is a wiz with technology?"

James perked up. "Really?"

She glowered at Arcade before reluctantly answering in the affirmative.

"You should talk to Francine," said James happily. "She was going on the other day about getting someone in to repair the broken slot machines. What are your rates?"

Veronica said 'prohibitively expensive' at the same time Arcade peevishly said 'more important technology than that, you moron.'

"Oh," said James, then _oh!_ as he finally realised what Arcade was hinting at. "We don't get many women, uh, engineering fans here."

"She's breaking down the gender boundaries," said Arcade smoothly, slouching in his chair even further and graciously allowing James to top up his drink. "Did you know it's her birthday?"

"It's not."

"It is. She is definitely not born in July, no."

"She isn't?"

"It's her birthday. Trust me." Arcade patted at James' hand, still firmly placed on his shoulder with the kind of easy familiarity that made Veronica's eyebrows raise. So robotics appreciation apparently happened in groups? She added it to her list of reasons to never join Arcade in Freeside on Tuesday nights.

"Well then!" James gave her a sunny smile. "In that case, um..."

"Cass," said Veronica, already dreading where this conversation was going. "My name is Cass."

"Cass! In that case, Cass, let me offer you some one on one time. On the house. With FIS--"

"Thank you," she said a little too quickly, cutting him off before the table next door could work out exactly what he was saying. "That's a swell offer, but I'm, um." She took a sip of her drink, stalling for time and an excuse. "I'm not sure my... girlfriend would approve."

"Potential girlfriend."

"Yes," she said acidly. "Thank you, _John_."

"Libenter hoc facio, _Cass_."

"A complimentary session," said James, keen to draw the conversation back to something he understood.

"Go on," said Arcade, grinning slightly too wide for a man who claimed to have full access to his sanity. "Get some of the kinks out. Get back in the habit. Blow some of the dust--"

"If you say 'blow the dust out of my pipes', I will punch you all the way back to the Hub." She debated whether it would be worth using her glass as a distraction. Maybe she could throw it at the cabaret singer and flee out the front door.

"Guaranteed no dust," added James. "You won't find dust or oil stains or rusted sixteen pin connectors on any Wrangler employees."

She instead balanced her glass on the arm of her chair and pressed her palms against her face, the flaming hot flush of embarrassment negated somewhat by her ice-chilled hands. "This is going to be a thing, isn't it," she said, voice muffled by her sleeves. "You're not going to let it go."

"Hey." Arcade attempted to grab her wrist and missed, instead landing on her shoulder and pulling her hood to the side. "Hey, I'm-- James, will you please go away? Later. I'll talk to you later."

"I'll send FISTO to the usual ro--"

"Go away."

Arcade finally realised what he was holding and let her hood go. She set it straight and tried to keep her face schooled into annoyance, fighting the urge to burst into laughter.

"I'm only joking," he said, an excess of vodka rendering his expression cartoonishly worried. "I wouldn't actually make you ride the robot."

"I'm sure you wouldn't, Doctor Robolove."

"I wouldn't!" He moved her glass from its perilous perch and set it on the table. "Besides," he added, looking at her from the corner of his eye and attempting to gauge her mood. "I'd be worried that you'd rewire it."

"I'd rewire it so it shut down at the sound of your belt being unbuckled."

"You wouldn't. You would, would you? No, you would. Yes."

"I will if you don't stop saying wouldn't, Drunkade." She grinned. "You can apologise by getting me a drink. A cold sarsaparilla, please. All this talk of robots makes me want to sober up for a bit."

He drunkenly patted her knee, satisfied that she wasn't about to punch him in the next few minutes. An attentive cocktail waitress materialised at his elbow and took his order, happily chirruping that James insisted that it was on the house. Drinks were promptly served, and Veronica silently thanked the idiot Garret sibling for having the foresight to include a bowl of roasted pinyon nuts that were heavy on the salt and spice.

"So," she said, chasing her straw around the edge of her glass of sarsaparilla with her tongue. She needed something to distract Arcade with that didn't involve him goading her into seeing how many nuts she could toss in the sir and catch in her mouth, and given that he had some information that she might need in the immediate future… "So," she started again. "Tell me all about Julie."

"I thought you said that it would take away the fun of finding out for yourself."

"Aww, Arcade." She fluttered her lashes. "You know I just can't say no to your brotherly dating advice. It's the perfect guide. I just need to do the opposite of whatever you say."

The tactic worked. He spoke and spoke, she gained some insights about Julie - some interesting, some helpful, and some of them enough to make her blush scarlet - and Arcade got drunker and drunker as she sobered up. When he gestured too lavishly and accidentally dropped his glass, she decided that it was now or never.

"Arcade? Where did James say your, uh, usual room was?"

"Third from the stairca-- hey. Hey." He pushed his glasses back up his nose with a shaky finger. "Hey."

"Stop saying hey, drunky."

"Really? You're actually gonna…" He waved his hands in the air, and it took Veronica a moment to realise that he making a shape that vaguely approximated FISTO's body panels.

"Don't you dare ask if you can watch." She got halfway out of her chair and paused. "How long does it take you to, uh. You know. How long does it take you to conduct an appreciation session?"

"That's very personal, isn't it? I don't ask you how long it takes you to attend your personal affairs."

She tried not to laugh at the fact that his cheeks were flushing redder than the time Cass had accidentally walked in on Raul in the bathroom and then told them all about the colours, shape and dimensions of his ghoulified backside in lurid detail.

"Five minutes? Two minutes?"

"Fifteen minutes if it's been a while. An hour usually." He set his jaw and stared at her as if daring her to her to challenge his stamina.

"Relax," she said mildly, biting back a grin. "You just sit here and watch the entertainment. Personal engineering, right? I'll be back in an hour."

She stopped by the bar on her way to the staircase to ask for a toolbox, and trued to ignore the way James Garret's eyes lit up with delight. She took the stairs two at a time, the toolbox bumping heavy against her thigh, and when she reached FISTO's door she took a deep breath and pushed it open.

"Greetings. I am programmed for your pleasure."

"Oh no you're not," she muttered, kicking the door shut and dropping the toolbox on a dressing table. "Mr FISTO, I presume? Do you respond to voice commands?"

"I am fully voice activated."

"Wonderful!" Veronica pushed back her hood and scuffed a hand through her hair, grinning in the dim bedroom light. "Mr FISTO, please present your rear access panel."

\---

It'd been a fortnight since Arcade had enough free time to get back to The Wrangler. A fortnight of trudging through the desert with just Courier for company, a fortnight without a proper bath, a fortnight without any personal time. To hell with waiting for next Tuesday night. He slammed closed the door to FISTO's room, belt buckle already sagging open and fingers tangled in recalcitrant bootlaces.

"You miss me, metal man? I've missed you. Admin level user: ArcadeNoWaitJohn FakeLastName."

"Greetings ArcadeNoWaitJohn FakeLastName. I am programmed for your _pfssssszzt_."

He glanced up, hopping on one foot as he tried to shuck his trousers and boots together. "You working all right? I hope you've been oiled, 'cause tonight daddy is too excited to grease you. Queue routine five, subprogram two."

"Greetings ArcadeNoWaitJohn FakeLastName. I am programmed for your education."

FISTO's bulb dimmed slightly as Arcade's undershorts skimmed past his shoulder housing and snagged on an open pincer.

"Routine five, subprogram two." The mattress dipped as he crawled over the stained cover and laid down with a sigh. "Wait. Make that routine five, subprogram one. You do all the work, I'm feeling lazy."

"Routine five, subprogram one. Begin: He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish."

"Yes, that's the stuff I need… wait, what?" He rolled onto one elbow and squinted at the robot idling at the foot of the bed. "Routine eight, subprogram one."

"Routine eight, subprogram one. Begin: Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen."

There was a long pause. FISTO waited expectantly.

"Did… did Francine do something to you? Is this about the grease stain I forgot to clean? What program are you running?"

FISTO's light brightened, and one pincer pointed at him. "User access ArcadeNoWaitJohn FakeLastName. Custom operating system Santangelo 1.0.1a. System notes: _hi Arcade! I hope you're having a romantic night curled with the classics. Libenter hoc facio in advance. If you want all your routines back, including the one you called DON'T LOOK JAMES, tell Julie that I want to take her out for a magical evening at the Ultra Lux. You're paying, by the way. See you back at the 38!_ "

Arcade stared at the ceiling. He lay there and listened to FISTOs servos whir, and plotted exactly how he would take his revenge on one Miss Veronica Santangelo. Eventually he sat up again, a pillow over his lap for modesty, and stared at his former robot paramour. "I'm probably going to regret this, but... run routine DON'T LOOK JAMES."

"Routine DON'T LOOK JAMES renamed DID I GET IRONY RIGHT THIS TIME. Begin: The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him."


End file.
